


The Words Left Unspoken

by Watermelonsmellinfellon



Series: How They Could Have Met [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BSL, Cute, Eventual Romance, Fluff, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Mute John, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sign Language, Some sad stuff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mentions of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watermelonsmellinfellon/pseuds/Watermelonsmellinfellon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Permission given by magneatooo on Tumblr. Soulmate AU where your soulmate's first words to you are found on some part of the body. Except person A' has no words and goes through life thinking they don't have a soulmate, when person B' comes along, excitedly showing A' their words and it takes A' a minute to realize that B' is mute. A/N: JOHNLOCK. Sherlock A', John B'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that sign language is just as expressive as any other language.

**A/N: Hello, people!**

**I don't own Sherlock.**

**I have no beta.**

**ENJOY!**

**CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had always been different. He knew this easily.

But what made him stand out from others, wasn't just his intelligence or his looks. Not even his attitude.

Everyone in history had been born with a mark. Like a tattoo. These marks always rested on the inner left wrist.

The mark was a claim. A soulmate claim. The very first words your soulmate said to you were imprinted on your wrist. Everyone knew this. It was among the first things taught in primary. Something Sherlock couldn't delete because it was everywhere!

Sherlock Holmes, did not have a mark. Anywhere. Which meant that he didn't have a soulmate.

The children in school made fun of him, soon prompting him to wear leather gloves.

University was always filled with invasive, childish people trying to get information they weren't meant to be privy to.

Everywhere he turned, people met their soulmates.

Even Mycroft met someone!  _Mycroft_! The corpulent, cake loving, British Government found his significant other in a Detective Inspector who worked for Scotland Yard. Someone who Sherlock frequently worked with.

Sherlock was not jealous. He refused to admit anything because he was positive that he  _wasn't_  jealous. He didn't need a soulmate. He didn't need someone always there to bother him.

He was fine on his own.

He was fine being alone.

But Mycroft knew how he really felt. He tried to keep Sherlock occupied in a positive manner, taking away Sherlock's needles and drugs and forcing him to do cases lest he be knighted by the queen.

Good old Betsy, always sitting by and waiting for the day Sherlock was willing to accept her offer.

He scoffed as he arranged the slide in his(the lab's) microscope.

Sentiment. Not his area.

His ears perked up, hearing footsteps in the hallway.

Mike Stamford entered the room, holding the door for a short, blonde haired man with an army cut. Psychosomatic limp, injured within the last year. Didn't ask for a chair, further proving it was just in his head. Familiarity with a scalpel judging by proper hold on the nearby tool. Doctor. Army doctor.

Invalided home recently do to whatever was wrong. Small scar on throat. Diagonal slash. Three inches long. Lucky to be alive at all.

Sherlock's gaze trailed to Mike, who was rifling through a drawer, pulling out papers.

"Mike, do you know what happened to the Lindo File?" he asked, having not found it in the lab.

"'Lindo'?" the other man repeated. "The cause of death was ruled as asphyxiation and it was closed. The file is locked away now."

'Asphyxiation'?! Was everyone in the world besides himself and maybe Mycroft, an idiot?!

Fools.

"I know, I know, you think the world is full of idiots," Mike smiled.

"It is," Sherlock replied candidly.

"Yes, and you are  _not_  a psychopath."

"I'm not! Can you pass me that foot?"

Mike grimaced and gingerly lifted the bag off the other counter. He placed it down in front of Sherlock and proceeded to wipe his hand unnecessarily on his coat.

Sherlock's mobile dinged, signalling a text alert.

"Could you read that for me?" he asked, gesturing to the phone with his eyes as he fixed the magnification on the microscope.

"From someone named Anderson?"

"Delete it. He's an idiot of the worst kind and still doesn't know the definition of a psychopath."

Sherlock caught the blond man's gaze. Said man was giving him a sort of searching look. Not disgusted, more intrigued than anything else.

He suddenly felt the need to clarify his mental state to this unknown army doctor with a pathetic limp. This attractive man who didn't know him and surely wouldn't care.

"I'm  _not_ a psychopath, I'm a high functioning sociopath."

* * *

John Watson's soul mark was different than what most would get.

His sister, Harry had poked fun over the years. Her's had said, 'Can I get a pint?'. Clara was on her way home from work when she met Harry who was a bartender in a small pub. Romance right away.

John's wrist was covered in long words. It took several years to understand the meaning of the words, but putting them together, had him lost.

His soulmate was going to say ' _I'm not a psychopath, I'm a high functioning sociopath_ '. What sort of greeting was  _that_?

No one he knew in primary, secondary, medical school, or even the army had spoken like that. Such proper speech wasn't so frequently heard of these days.

And John wondered if he'd ever actually meet his soulmate.

And then… he was injured. Shot in the shoulder and attacked.

He was lucky to be alive. Shoulder hit was too close to the heart and the enemy managed to slash his throat before John shot him in return.

Captain Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was no longer fit for army duty. He couldn't even talk anymore.

It was… a change that he had not been ready for.

He returned to London, to live in a bedsit for several months, living off his army pension.

He had a routine. He followed it precisely every day. In six months, he had yet to deviate.

But he met an old friend from medical school. And it was disheartening to realize that they couldn't properly speak to each other. John was learning BSL and had to use his phone - a gift from Harry - to get his message across to others who didn't know how to sign.

But Mike Stamford was a good sport about it.

And Mike solved a problem John was having. He needed to get out of the bedsit and needed a flat, but London was too expensive on his own, so a flatmate was in order.

And Mike knew someone in need of a flatmate.

If John didn't know better, he'd say it was fate.

And so they went to Bart's, bringing back memories of the old days.

The man who spoke to Mike was a looker, which shocked John because he had never really noticed men's looks before. But indeed, tall and pale, with dark curls, and light blue/green eyes. Attractive.

The two spoke quickly and John couldn't help but wonder what the man was doing with a severed foot.

And then… Just then. The man turned to John after Mike made a comment and said the very words John hadn't expected to ever really hear.

"I'm  _not_ a psychopath, I'm a high functioning sociopath."

John knew his mouth dropped. He also didn't care in the least.

He glanced down at his wrist, the fanciful script glowing the same shade as the man's eyes.

John looked back up to see both Mike and the man staring openly at him.

John held up his wrist so the man could see.

" _What_?"

Tall, dark, and handsome was holding John's wrist in the next second, shocking the ex-soldier who hadn't seen him move.

"This is impossible," the man murmured, running his fingertip over the words.

John's head tilted in confusion.

"I don't have a mark," the man continued to say, frowning at the words on John's wrist.

And John had an epiphany!

He withdrew his hand and smiled at the stranger, before signing,  **Hi, my name is John Watson. Nice to meet you.**

The man's jaw dropped a bit, before his own - graceful, fluid, and absolutely delicate looking - hands rose in return.  **I am Sherlock Holmes,**  he signed back.

"You're mute, that is why I never had a soul mark," Sherlock breathed in what seemed to be awe.

John smiled brightly. His soulmate was the attractive genius. And seriously, who wouldn't be able to tell that Sherlock was smart?

"I just…  _how_ did the soul mark know that you would be mute when we finally got to meet?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

John frowned and shrugged. How indeed?

"This could use further scientific study. I play the violin at random hours of the night and might not talk for days on end, would that bother you?"

John was already signing,  **No,**  before he could think.

"Brilliant!" Sherlock grinned, looking much younger and more alive than a few minutes ago.

Mike simply stood by, grinning widely at them.

"I'm going to pop off for a cuppa. I'll see you gents later."

John and Sherlock were too engrossed in their discussion to notice him leaving. But that was okay, because two people who had doubted their futures for years, had been brought together finally.

And as the words flowed from their hands, but continued to smile in contentment.

This, was definitely worth waiting for.

* * *

** A/N: Done! Okay, sign language isn't like a spoken language it is very different. Please remember this. You have to spell names out fully. I know ASL. BSL may be different though. **

**How was it? Let me know!**

**Check out my other fics.**

**See ya! :D**

**CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR..<http://helly-watermelonsmellinfellon.tumblr.com/> I FOLLOW BACK.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people wanted more to this and so I have decided to make it a long fic. I hope this doesn't bomb. I really hope it doesn't. Drop me a line if you think it is worth continuing.
> 
> Ratings may change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have learned more about BSL. It is very different from ASL. Simply asking how someone is, is completely different. Thankfully, the phrase 'thank you' is the same in both. Though remember, ASL and BSL each have different dialects. If you sign for a particular one, imagine John signs that way just to make your life easier.

**A/N: Hello, people!**

**I don’t own Sherlock.**

**I have no beta.**

**ENJOY!**

**CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR.[HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON](http://helly-watermelonsmellinfellon.tumblr.com/). I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 

“So you were an army doctor.”

John turned to Sherlock, who was sitting beside him in the cab. As John hadn’t anything better to do for the day, Sherlock had asked him to come and view the flat he wanted to move into. John agreed because it would help him get to know Sherlock better.

Sherlock was really smart. Mike had said nothing about John formerly being in the army or being a doctor and yet Sherlock simply knew somehow.

John nodded in order to answer the statement.

“You were invalided home about six months ago.”

John couldn’t keep the look of utter wonderment off his face. Sherlock was just… amazing. How could he have possibly come across him?

Sherlock sent him a smile. “I saw your phone. It’s less than a year old, but as your clothing is pretty well maintained compared to _it_ which is scuffed and marked up a bit, you weren’t the one to treat it that way. It had a previous owner who wasn’t too careful with it. Since that brand came out nine months ago, you would have had to gotten a hold of it some time between then and now.”

 **How did you know all that?** John signed, because he just really wanted to know and was frustrated that he couldn’t speak anymore. It would be nice to have a lengthy discussion with Sherlock.

“I didn’t know, I saw,” explained the brunet. “I observe what I see and I make deductions. The way you stand, your haircut, and your tan lines, scream military. Mike’s words to you upon entering the lab and your handling of the scalpel show familiarity, so a doctor as well. Not too difficult of a leap.”

**You’re brilliant.**

Sherlock’s blue eyes went wide and he looked out his out window for a second. “You really think so?”

He looked back to see John’s response, which was certainly positive.

“No one has ever told me that before.”

John frowned and signed, **Why?**

“Truth hurts.”

They sat in silence for several moments, before John turned to Sherlock and asked another question.

**What do you do for a living?**

“I’m a consulting detective. I take on cases from non boring people and occasionally Scotland Yard when they’re being idiots. I help them catch killers, or I deduce things about faulty relationships. I even once went to a masquerade ball in order to steal back something for a client - and before you protest, I actually made certain that I was stealing something that had been property of my client. I’m not an idiot.”

 **The police just come and ask you for help?** asked John, feeling the situation to be a little too far-fetched despite how obviously brilliant Sherlock was.

“They have no choice,” shrugged the detective. “I know a detective inspector and he frequently comes to call. He’s also my brother’s soulmate but aside from that, they only met because Lestrade and I got working together.

"My brother is terribly bothersome and tends to run background checks on everyone I come into contact with. He kidnapped Lestrade, they hit it off, and Lestrade was less averse to using my mind in finding his killers.”

 **Am I going to get kidnapped?** John asked, because the thought of dealing with someone as pushy as that without Sherlock around, was dreadful.

“Most certainly.”

 _Oh, great_.

Sherlock didn’t seem too worried about the prospect though.

“If he offers you money to spy on me, however, I advise you take it. We can use more in case we have flat troubles.”

**What?**

No response.

What kind of sibling offers someone to- the kind of sibling with a younger brother who possibly gets into too much danger!

John cast a small glance in Sherlock’s direction, seeing that he was already being watched.

**You get in a lot of trouble, don’t you?**

A smirk accompanied the answer he received. “Yes.”

Bloody fantastic.

* * *

 

Sherlock’s knee was bouncing erratically. He hadn’t thought that meeting his soulmate - he had a soulmate! - would make him feel this way. Especially since he’d shunned any kind of positive emotion in regards to romance.

Sherlock cast a speculative glance in John’s direction. The army doctor seemed a little wary of the idea of meeting Mycroft, but nothing Sherlock had said so far had chased him away.

But John had said that Sherlock was ‘brilliant’.

Sherlock would admit, at least in the deepest part of his mind palace, that his heart had fluttered just a tad. That was the very first reaction he’d gotten that was of the positive inclination. No one had ever thought he was ‘brilliant’ before. To see the man who was his soulmate, profess such a thing, made Sherlock feel important.

Sherlock often ignored his minute sadness over not fitting in, by assuring himself that he did not _want_ to in the first place. People were boring and _he_ was not boring, therefore, he should not concern himself with the happenings of the normal folk.

But like every other human being out there - despite his attempts at not being one - Sherlock had feelings and desires to fit in at least once.

How Sherlock longed to rub it in the faces of all the people he’d attended uni with that he too had a soulmate. And it had been two hours since they met and John _still_ hadn’t run away!

It was a personal record as far as first meetings went.

Sherlock fidgeted as they approached Baker Street. Would John not like the flat? Would Mrs. Hudson not like John? Would he not like Mrs. Hudson? Did Sherlock forget to pick up the rubbish on the floor by the fireplace? The knife embedded in the mantelshelf was still there, wasn’t it? Did he throw out those eyeballs in the tea cup?

* * *

 

Martha Louise Hudson rarely had many surprises in life, but when Sherlock showed up on the front stoop with an attractive, blond man, she nearly cooed.

“Mrs. Hudson, this is John Watson… my soulmate.”

The excitement in Sherlock’s eyes was nearly palpable, but Martha played it calm and collected. She always knew that Sherlock would find someone just for him and his soulmate seemed like such a nice young man!

“Hello, dear,” she greeted the blond.

The man raised his free hand and gave a wave, before pointing to his throat, where her eyes landed on a jagged scar.

The realisation came swiftly and she withheld her pity, though inside she couldn’t help but mourn for the poor dear. Still, she put on a smile and ushered the two into the building, slowly though, to mind John’s leg. The walking stick clunked on the wooden floor with every step.

“Sherlock, I fixed up the flat a little while you were gone this morning,” she said, leading the two up the stairs. “You left it in such a mess from your experiments! Now remember that while I am willing to help you, I am not your maid, young man.”

She had left the doors to 221B wide open, along with the windows, in order to air the flat out a bit. Sherlock had done something with eyeballs the former evening and had left them out all night. The remains had not been pleasant to find among her attempts to clean the work space.

“There is another bedroom upstairs if you will be needing two,” she offered, knowing how strange it was to begin a relationship with your soulmate. You didn’t know each other and sometimes it could get a little awkward with each other. The separate space could help both as they learned to get used to one another.

The young men shared a look and John nodded calmly. He placed the tips of his finger on his chin, and nodded his head as he drew his hand away from his face. It was the only sign she knew in BSL and she smiled. “You’re welcome, dear.”

She would have to start learning BSL if she wanted to converse with John.

“Would you boys like to have a look around?”

She was telling a story. A very long story with only her eyes, trying to get Sherlock to realise that he should offer to take his soulmate on a tour of the flat they would be sharing space in.

God seemed to hear her pleas, as Sherlock turned to John and offered to take his coat.

They were too adorable for words!

She left the room, intent in leaving them to get to know each other better.

“ _Yes_ , that is a human skull. _No_ , I did not steal it or have any dealings in how it lost it’s flesh.”

The old woman placed a hand to her mouth to stop the giggles from coming.

By the time she made it down the stairs, she was just in time to meet one Greg Lestrade, who had come to seek Sherlock’s aid.

“Is he in?” the man asked, looking rushed.

She cast a wary glance at the staircase. Sherlock was busy, but maybe it would be a quick case.

She waved the detective inspector on up, hoping she made the right decision.

* * *

 

**A/N: Another is done!**

**How was it? Let me know!**

**Check out my other Johnlock fics!**

**See ay! :D**

**CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR.[HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON](http://helly-watermelonsmellinfellon.tumblr.com/). I FOLLOW BACK.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click on the How They Could Have Met series, to read different ways that Sherlock and John meet in my different fics!

**Author's Note:**

> Please be respectful to those who sign primarily in life.


End file.
